The Lion's Claw
by SRV42
Summary: A bustling tavern sits on a caribbean island. When shots ring out in the darkness, a barmaid and a pirate captain are brought together.


The Lion's Claw

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I'm afraid I've decided to kill the other two POTC stories that I started. I've been re-reading them and I KNOW that I can do better. So here's what I've come up with. Let me know what you think! It's my first attempt at a truly R rated story. 

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Chapter 1- A Shot in the Dark

            The Lion's Claw was the most well known tavern on the island of  Curacao. The company was mixed, consisting of equal numbers of local fishermen, sailors and even pirates. The proprietress of the tavern was an older woman who went by the name of Nanny Chambers. She had continued to run the tavern even after the scandalous demise of her husband. Her daughter, Sarah, was a barmaid and kitchen hand, and also took any role her mother needed her to play. The Lion's Claw was its own little universe, with a million small scenes playing themselves out within its walls on a nightly basis. 

            Supper was served from two until six in the evening. Drinks were available at any time, of course, except when the tavern was closed, on Sundays or holidays. If you wanted to see a fight breaking out, Friday nights would be the time to visit. For the weak of heart, two o'clock on a Monday was a better choice. The Claw was famous for its atmosphere, as well as for Nanny's homemade Orange pudding. A man could enter the tavern and find himself surrounded by friends and hearty conversation. Even a dogged, chased man could find a moment of rest and freedom in the busy inn. 

            September was an extremely busy time for the Lion's Claw. Nanny nagged Sarah almost constantly in an effort to keep up with the steady stream of customers. With colder weather came the rougher crowd; the men that Sarah knew might be fugitives from justice. Keeping to her work, she would curiously eye the patches, bandanas and scars which adorned these rougher men. 

            "Best keep it coming, love, I've 'ad a long day and I'm in need of inebriation." A dark man leaned upon the table and smirked up at his hostess. Sarah smiled wanly and poured the amber liquid into the man's tumbler. She recognized the man; he frequented the tavern at least once every month. His kohl-rimmed eyes and beaded dreadlocks made him highly recognizable. Long, ragged clothing covered his arms, hiding what Sarah was sure were scars denoting his life's station. 

            Pirates intrigued her. Sarah knew little of her father, who had been hanged when she was but seven years old, but had heard the stories of his life upon the water. Joseph Chambers had begun as a merchant sailor, but had turned to piracy when the money became tight. The tavern had been an afterthought, meant to keep Nanny busy while her husband was away at sea more than anything else. When Sarah had been brought into the world, Joseph had sworn that he could change his life, bring an end to his existence on the sea. But old habits die hard, and bad ones even harder, and so he had found himself at the hangman's noose seven years later. 

            Sarah's childhood had been conducted in the tavern. She was indifferent to the differences between honest and dishonest men, and learned that the difference was too slight to matter. She thrived on the stories of the temperamental sea, cruel or benevolent captains, treasure and lost loves. During the afternoon and evenings, Sarah would be transported to a world of wonder and adventure. Then at night, she could escape to the safe comfort of her own room, happy to be securely on land. 

            The beaded man, as Sarah thought of him, was looking at her now, examining her as she was lost in her own thoughts. Sarah recognized the look, lust underlying the gaze, and made a point not to make eye contact. She had received the same look from the tavern men, many times before, and knew enough not to encourage it. Shifting uncomfortably, her eyes ran over his slender fingers, clasped about a scrap of parchment on the table. 

            "Will you be needing anything else, sir?" Sarah asked. She fidgeted with her apron, balancing three pewter mugs with the other hand. 

            "Nothing," the man answered, distracted. Sarah nodded submissively, then hurried about on her way. 

            A lanky boy entered the bar, fresh faced and cocky. Sarah knew it would only be a matter of time before the boy's skin was toughened into a sailor's leathery hide, and his eyes crinkled with the wisdom of years on the water. He swaggered to the bar and ordered a pint, then incorporated himself into a ring of red-faced, laughing men. The boy flitted from side to side like a hummingbird looking for the center of a flower. Sarah smiled. She had seen the same thing many times before. She sighed, feeling older than her 25 years. 

            Despite the fact that she had been working in the tavern since she could remember and had seen many such boys beginning their careers on the water, Sarah couldn't help examining the young man. A pang of loneliness reminded her that it had been far too long since she had received genuine affection from a love interest, and she couldn't help imagining herself with the boy. Walking, hand in hand, sharing secrets, joining together for a long, lingering kiss. . . 

            The sound of breaking glass brought Sarah back to the present. Two middle-aged pirates had become intoxicated and were arguing heatedly. One man had toppled his tumbler of rum, which was slowly seeping into the floorboards as the other man blinked in confusion at the ruckus. Sighing, Sarah hurried to retrieve the broken shards and to break up the argument. Nanny caught her eye, silently asking if Sarah needed assistance with the rowdy men. Sarah shook her head softly at her mother, then attended the drunken men. 

            "What guarantee have ye that the gold is still there?" A cloaked man was leaning close to the beaded pirate, rasping out his words. "I trust ye, Jack, but the legend is well known." Captain Jack Sparrow's eyes flashed beneath his indifferent appearance. 

            "Well, mate," he grinned, taking another swig from his mug, "Tryin' to steal a treasure that isn't there would be a challenge, now wouldn't it?" The pirate connected the mug with the table with a thump, then tried to find the girl who had been keeping it filled. He finally saw her, on the other side of the room, dealing with two drunken fools. He had oftentimes admired the girl, both her beauty and her ability to put up with life in the tavern. 

            Ignoring his companion for the moment, Jack examined the girl. Long brown hair tied back in a braid, large blue eyes that sparkled in the candlelight, shapely curves and a small waist. If you had asked him about his one true love, Jack would have told you about a brigantine with black sails and a figurehead so weathered that she moaned as if dying. But the Black Pearl was a selfish mistress, and gave him freedom in return for blood, sweat and tears. This girl would never  be selfish, he mused, staring at Sarah. She had finished cleaning up the mess and somehow convinced the drunken men to depart for the night. Now she was heading back to the table with Jack's other true love.

            "Thank the Lord for rum, eh lass?" he said to her. Sarah smiled meekly. She refilled his mug as he pressed a few coins toward her. 

            "I'm afraid I don't drink, sir," Sarah answered, smiling at him. 

            "No rum? Such a deprived existence. And you can call me Jack, love." Sarah's breath caught in her throat as she met his eyes with her own. She remembered a moment too late that eye contact with an inebriated customer was not a good idea. She couldn't help looking into his chocolate eyes, her eyes trailing over his drooping mustache and smirking mouth. She realized that her examination was a very bad idea when she felt the desperate longing inside her that argued that a rum dependent pirate was not such a bad catch. The way he was looking at her made her heart beat loudly and her breath catch in her throat. Her cheeks grew red as she realized where her thoughts had strayed. 

            Suddenly, a shot rang out, creating silence in the tavern. Jack moaned, grabbing his arm, and slumping down in the seat. Sarah shrieked, turning. A dark man with a grizzled beard and beady eyes stood in the doorway holding a smoking pistol, and stared at Jack and his companion. 

            "What are you doing with this bilge rat, Mister Browne?" The man at the door questioned the cloaked man. 

            "Captain Flint," Browne replied, his eyes shifting between his writhing companion and the man with the gun, "We thought you was dead, sir." Sarah had grabbed a cloth from behind the counter and was trying to press it against Jack's wound. She could see beads of sweat forming upon his brow as he struggled with control. 

            "Hell of a way to say hello," Jack said, eyes flashing at the man. Flint only grinned, fingering the pistol. 

            "Hell of a way to leave, Jack," Flint answered, "with my ship and a hold full of swag. I'll be wantin' that back, by the way." Jack grimaced, standing and waving away Sarah's ministrations. 

            "Bloody children!" A shrill voice filled the room. Sarah looked up to see her mother approaching the table. "If ye can't keep yer gun in yer pants, then get out of me tavern," Nanny scolded. Flint blinked once, then shot Nanny right in the heart. She dropped to the floor without drawing another breath. 

            "No!" Sarah shrieked, cold dread filling her being. She knelt by the fallen woman, sobbing and calling for her to come back. Jack's eyes narrowed. 

            "Anyone else want me to leave? Good," Flint addressed the room. Another shot rang out, and Flint fell forward. 

            "I want you to leave." Another man stood behind the slumped man in the doorway, holding a rifle. 

            "Gibbs," Jack called, and then promptly passed out.


End file.
